


Their First Real Conversation in 70 Years

by wierdrocks



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Confession, Ficlet, M/M, Unrequited Love, memory recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wierdrocks/pseuds/wierdrocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky showed up at Steve's door one afternoon, unsure and afraid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Their First Real Conversation in 70 Years

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by this tumblr text post:  
> http://wierdrocks.tumblr.com/post/83819455169/thedoctorknows-sebastillestans-i-was

“How much do you remember?” Steve asked, handing his best friend a glass of water. The Soldier took the glass gingerly, glancing at Steve through his curtain of brown hair, still damp from the shower he’d been so grateful for.

“Bits and pieces.” He answered, taking a sip of water. It was cool and crisp and he’d never thought a person could physically hurt from a wave of gratitude. But he’d never thought he’d be anything other than a mindless weapon either. He glanced at Steve again. Steve. The name had come to him one night on a park bench, warm and tinged with yellow.

The Man on The Bridge had a name and he was sitting there next to him on this couch that seemed too good for the Soldier to be sitting on and he was smiling gently and waiting patiently for him to continue. The Soldier gulped. “Sometimes,” He said, still not sure if he should voice these words. They’d been playing in his mind for weeks. Steve’s brows rose just slightly and the Soldier looked down at his lap again.

“Sometimes I can’t tell what’s a memory and what’s a dream.” He said quickly, circling the rim of the glass with his metal forefinger. “The pictures in my head, they’re all scrambled and they pieces don’t fit together.” He shook his head.

“Tell me.” Steve said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. The metal one. The dangerous one. The Solider… Bucky. His name was Bucky. That’s what Steve had called him. That’s what had shaken him to his core, what had awoken something in him that was beautiful and frightening and had changed his entire world. Bucky. “I can help.”

And Bucky straightens and turns his head and looks at Steve for what feels like such a long time. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand how or why he knew this person. How just him saying a name could have shaken loose seven decades of blocks and wipes. How anyone as good and as bright as this person, as The Man on The Bridge, could ever have known or been friends with someone as dark and as broken as him. The pieces didn’t fit together, and they were sharp and pointed and hurt his brain and he didn’t understand.

“You can tell me.” Steve said, his hand sliding from Bucky’s shoulder to rest between his shoulder blades. Bucky shivered. “I want to help, Buck. Tell me some of the things you’ve remembered, and I’ll try,” Steve can’t finish his sentence because Bucky’s lips are pressed against his and neither of them are sure if the glass broke, but it’s definitely on the floor. Steve pulled away slowly, hands gently gripping his friend’s upper arms. Bucky’s breath was stuttering and his eyes were squeezed closed.

“Buck.” Steve breathed. Bucky’s shoulder’s fell but he kept his eyes shut.

“Dream.” He whispered.

“Dream.” Steve confirmed. Bucky nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Bucky shook his head. “No, don’t be sorry. I remember.” He furrowed his brow, eyes still shut. One hand reached up to touch Steve’s. “It’s… That’s not okay.” It took a moment for Steve to understand and he squeezed Bucky’s arms.

“No, Bucky, it’s okay. Things have changed.”

Bucky’s eyes opened. Tears were threatening behind is eyes and a part of him regretted knocking on Steve’ Rodger’s door. He swallowed.

“It’s okay.” Steve repeated. Bucky nodded. They sat there like that for a moment, Steve’s hands on Bucky’s upper arms, both of them, one of Bucky’s hands over one of Steve’s. It was quiet and nice.

“Steve.” Bucky whispered after a few minutes. Steve smiled.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Why do I look down the alleyways?” Steve’s brow furrowed and he titled his head to one side. Bucky took a deep breath. “Whenever I pass an alleyway or a dead end, especially in a city… I look.”

“What?”

Bucky pulled away and sat back against the couch, pulling in on himself, wrapping his arms around himself. “I don’t know why I do that. I know that I’m looking for something. Something important.” He looked down and shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

He looked up when the couch shifted as Steve moved closer to him. The other man was smiling broadly. He wrapped an arm around Bucky’ shoulders.

“Well,” He almost chuckled. “There was this skinny kid from Brooklyn who could never back down from a fight.”


End file.
